What Means the Most
by Spiralling-Down
Summary: Written for alohamora080's "True Colours" competition on HPFC. Percy Weasley must work out, once and for all, what he cares about the most in his life. My colour is violet, which symbolises mystery, royalty and magic.


**Disclaimer: Harry Potter in general, and the music quote in particular, belong to JK Rowling. Not me.**

**Author's Note: This story is for ****alohamora080's "True Colours" Competition on HPFC. You take a character and a colour, which represents certain ideas that have to be incorporated into the story. My character is Percy Weasley and my colour is ****violet, which symbolises royalty, magic and mystery.**

* * *

Secretly, Percy Weasley liked to imagine that he was a bit of an enigma. It had all started on Christmas Day in his second year.

_That year, Percy opted to stay in school for the Christmas holidays. He relished the peace and quiet at Hogwarts, particularly in comparison to the Burrow, which was always noisy and crowded. He had sent a letter home making his excuses to his parents, and then he'd been one of the first to sign the list of students who would be spending the holidays in Hogwarts. _

_Now it was Christmas Day, and he was on his way back up to Gryffindor Tower after a spectacular festive dinner, feeling full and contented, and carrying a miniature wizard's chess set he'd got out of a cracker._

"_Pass - hic - word?" said the Fat Lady, sounding slightly tipsy._

_She stared at Percy expectantly, and his heart sank. He knew the password was due to be changed that very day, but he had no idea what it was. He remembered that it was going to be Christmas-themed, but he'd left the common room in a rush that morning without checking it with anyone._

_He looked up at the Fat Lady, biting his lip. She was pouring herself another glass of wine from a bottle her friend, Violet, had brought her from a different portrait. In fact, there were several empty bottles littering the floor around them, and they were both beginning to look rather red-faced and dishevelled. In a few minutes, they'd probably start up the raucous singing that the Gryffindors had learned to associate with special occasions, when the Fat Lady would always get a bit drunk.  
_

"_The password…" said Percy slowly, trying to sound confident. He knew it was silly, but he didn't want to admit that he didn't know it. "Yes, the password."_

_"Go on then," the Fat Lady pressed him._

"_Well, I would say it, but I think I saw a Slytherin hanging around here. Don't want them to get in..." he trailed off weakly._

"_Oh, isn't he mysterious!" hiccoughed Violet, holding a wine glass in one hand and nudging the Fat Lady in the side with the other. A bit of wine slopped out of the glass and down her front.  
_

_She collapsed into the frame of the portrait, giggling hysterically, as a Gryffindor Prefect arrived at the entrance and said, "Mistletoe." The portrait hole swung open and Percy climbed through as fast as he could, flushing with embarrassment._

Mysterious. Violet's words, however alcohol-fuelled and insincere they might have been, had captivated Percy, ever since that day when he was twelve. From then on, it was like a fire burning inside of him. It was a point of silent pride for him that he was – well – _interesting_ enough to be called mysterious. Whenever he felt as though he wasn't living up to anyone's expectations, he'd fall back on that one thought. They just didn't understand him. He was different… a mystery.

He knew he wasn't like the rest of his family. They were all brave and outgoing, and they'd take any risks for a friend. Percy on the other hand was a lot quieter; he preferred to think about his options than to leap immediately into action. And if he was totally honest, he'd do a lot to get what he wanted, even if he hurt his friends or family in the process, which definitely wasn't a typical Weasley quality. It was almost as if he was from another red-haired family, but he had been somehow switched at birth. He sometimes liked to think that people looked at him, confused, and wondered if he really was a Weasley. He was an unsolved riddle that they could puzzle over in their heads for months without ever working him out, and that made him special.

These were the thoughts running through his head as he waited outside Professor McGonagall's office for his careers advice in his fifth year. Today was the day that he would reveal all his secrets. Finally, they'd see him for what he truly was – someone destined for greatness in the Ministry of Magic – not just another Weasley, rushing straight into danger without a thought for the correct way to carry out a plan.

"Come in, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall called, bringing him out of his trance with a jolt.

He entered her office. McGonagall was holding a roll of parchment in front of her. On it was written all of Percy's school grades since he started Hogwarts.

"Good afternoon, Weasley. I'll get straight to the matter at hand," Professor McGonagall said. "You have exceptional exam results, which should put you in a strong position, whatever your career choice. Do you have any ideas about what you would like to do?"

Percy puffed out his chest. "Actually, Professor, I'd like to work in the Ministry of Magic."

"Yes, I thought you might," McGonagall replied crisply. "Well, I'm sure that would suit you very well. I wish you the best of luck."

It was as if someone had hit him very hard in the chest. Was he really that easy to read? One of the things he prided himself on above all was gone, just like that. He vaguely registered McGonagall's voice telling him about the N.E.W.T.s he would have to take and the marks he would need to receive in order to stand a chance in applying to the Ministry, but he barely heard her through his numb haze of shock.

Perhaps he wasn't such a mystery after all.

* * *

However, work in the Ministry he did. He recovered quickly from the blow of being so easily understood, and he began to bury himself in his work, becoming truly passionate about his job. He toiled away even harder than he had done at his studies in Hogwarts, and within a few years he had progressed from regulating the thicknesses of cauldron bottoms to being the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

A pale violet memo came sailing through the door to land on the desk in front of Percy, only narrowly missing his ink bottle. Percy picked it up and unfolded it, his eyes quickly scanning over the writing. It was from the Minister himself, requesting that Percy see him in his office to discuss the on-going struggle against Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Percy swelled with pride. He seemed to be becoming more and more vital to Fudge; he was given crucial tasks, his opinions were valued, and he was trusted.

As he strode briskly towards Fudge's office, looking as important as he could, he allowed himself to think about his future. He couldn't deny it; he wanted to be the Minister for Magic one day. He knew he could manage it – he was ambitious, clever, and willing to do whatever it took to get ahead. In actual fact, he felt slightly guilty about that last bit, though he tried not to. He remembered the day that he'd decided he valued the Ministry above all else.

_"I need to talk to you about work, Percy," said Arthur, sounding unusually grave. "You've been progressing... very quickly."_

_Percy glowed with satisfaction. "Yes, I find that the Minister really appreciates my-"  
_

_Arthur cut him off, holding one hand up. "Wait a minute. I'm sorry, but I'm worried you're being used. The Order thinks that Cornelius Fudge is just hoping to get information about Dumbledore from you."  
_

_"Don't you believe that I can move forward on my own merits?" said Percy. His voice was rising and his ears were starting to turn pink.  
_

_"Of course I do, but Fudge is looking for someone with inside knowledge," Arthur replied firmly. "Percy, this is serious; you can't let that person be you. Voldemort has returned. The Ministry is trying to convince themselves otherwise, but-"  
_

_Percy interrupted him. "You can't honestly believe that Dumbledore is telling the truth? He's a fool, and Harry Potter is just an attention-seeking-"  
_

_"That's not true and you know it! You're blinded by power!"  
_

_"You need to work out where your loyalties lie!" Percy yelled. "Mine are with the Ministry, and if you have any sense about the changes that are being made, you should follow my example! Perhaps then we wouldn't be so short on money."  
_

_"My loyalties are with our family, and with the Order," Arthur shouted back. "Perhaps you should think about what's right for the wizarding world, instead of what's best for you. Some things are more important than power or Galleons."  
_

_Percy was already half way to the door by the time his father finished speaking. He summoned his things he needed from the Burrow and once they came flying out of the window and landed in his arms, he span on the spot, Apparating away to a quiet area outside the Ministry building. He sank down against the cold brick wall, trembling, and leant his forehead against his crossed arms. His eyebrows creased into a frown, his insides boiling with a combination of anger and, though he didn't like to admit it, guilt. He sighed, pulling off his glasses and wiping them hurriedly clean with his shirt, and stood up. Brushing the dirt off of his clothes, he composed himself once again before walking into the Ministry, just like on any other normal day.  
_

Percy pushed these memories from his mind, leaving no outward traces of them except for a slight shake in his hands. He didn't need his family any more, not when he had the Ministry of Magic on his side. They'd see that he was better off without them when he became Minister.

He drew in a controlled breath and, for a moment, he smiled regally, picturing himself in charge of the whole wizarding world. Percy Weasley, Minister for Magic. He wouldn't just be the least popular of seven Weasley siblings any more; he would have proved himself. Why should he care what his family thought when he could become practically the wizarding equivalent of royalty?

* * *

But he did care what his family thought. He always had. He realised that now, several years later… Several years too late.

It was the May 2nd, 1999. Exactly one year to the day that he came back to his family, the same day that his brother, Fred, died, fighting for a cause that Percy only wished he had supported more readily. Percy was currently standing at Fred's grave in Ottery St. Catchpole, outside a Muggle church. He held himself straight upright, refusing to let any traces of emotion cross his face.

Flowers. He should have brought flowers. Quickly, he glanced around him to check for Muggles. There was nobody in sight, so he surreptitiously withdrew his wand from his pocket and magically conjured a bunch of violets out of thin air. He laid them carefully across the grave, nodding slightly to himself. He had read in a book once that in certain parts Muggle folklore, violets were associated with the death of heroes, and with death too soon. It seemed appropriate therefore to Percy that he should put these flowers on Fred's grave. He was sure Fred would rather he put down one of those ridiculous joke products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but Percy preferred to conform to type, and so flowers it would have to be.

He stared down at the violets strewn across the bare earth, and felt his throat constrict a little as he thought about his little brother, far beneath the ground with dirt and mud piled up on top of him. Fred, who had constantly seemed so alive and happy. Deep down, Percy had always envied him a bit for that.

He turned to the headstone. "I'm sorry, Fred," he said stiffly, feeling more than a little awkward at the idea of talking to a slab of rock. "You deserved to live. If anyone had to die it should have been me. I was the - the prat who left our family. I barely have the right to be alive."

Percy impatiently brushed a wetness from his cheeks. He turned his eyes upwards, blinking fast and refusing to let tears fall, and swallowed hard. He could faintly hear organ music echoing across the graveyard from the church. Without warning, a few words Dumbledore had once said at a Hogwarts welcome feast came floating back into his mind.

_The last notes of singing faded away, as the school song was over for one more year. Percy glanced over at the teachers' table, to see them sigh in relief, and the tension vanish from their shoulders. The school song was unpopular to say the least, however much Dumbledore loved it.  
_

_The headmaster smiled serenely. "Ah, __music__. A __magic__ far __beyond__ all we do here!"_

With a slight jolt to his stomach and a fresh tightening of his throat, Percy remembered that Fred and George had been singing a funeral march that year… It seemed horribly ironic to him now. He drew in a shaky breath as another tear fell from the corner of his eye.

Fred. George. His family in general. That should have been the true meaning in his life; not being different, not working at the Ministry. He understood that now, and the fact that they had accepted him back and abandoned their grudges without question meant more to Percy than he could ever describe. Their forgiveness felt more like magic to him than any spell he had ever cast.

"Thank you, Fred."

* * *

**That ending was A LOT more cheesy than I intended… *****Shudders***** If you'd like to read more on my opinion of Percy, I have another story about him, called **_**The Quietest Weasley**_**, which goes into more detail about what I actually think of him. Also, I think I accidentally re-used a couple of ideas out of it when I wrote this, which I only realised when I was reading through it again… Oh well. ****Reviews would be lovely, by the way, if you've got a second to spare!**


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